Perhaps a parable may prove amusing.
“Colonel” Oldhouse, who had about reached the retirement age, suspected all new-fangled methods. Behind his desk rested an old hand-made army-chest, strapped and locked to withstand the strains and bruises of frontier [[296]]travel. The Colonel dated from those days when the stage ran “to the States,” and Santa Fe was an outpost of progress. In that chest reposed his warrants and accounts, neatly arranged, jacketed, and briefed. He could go to it in the dark and instantly find Voucher 137 for the second quarter of 1889.
“Colonel,” said a very young man, “Why don’t you order some files for your papers, with sliding drawers, and rods, and—”
The Colonel snorted.
“They’re no good,” he snapped; “the damned things are made by machinery!”
Exactly, Colonel; you have accurately described the ineffectiveness of a filing-case. [[297]]
XXIII
THE RED BOOTLEGGERS
And I will make it felony to drink small beer.—King Henry VI